Fragments
by attica
Summary: I had a dream that I was dead." Rachel wakes up in the middle of the woods, naked -- and very much alive! And somewhere in this, a depressed hawk comes back and, oh I don't know, makes out with her. AU and possibly factually-incorrect. WIP.
1. Prologue

Fragments

**Summary: **"I had a dream that I was dead." Rachel wakes up in the middle of the woods, naked -- and very much alive! And somewhere in this, a depressed hawk comes back and, oh I don't know, makes out with her. AU and possibly factually-incorrect.**  
A/N:** Figured it's been too long since I wrote any T/R, and the T/R ship def needs too much love to be ignored. And HELLO! AU fic, coming your way. Big fat apologies if my facts are all wrong, IT'S BEEN AWHILE, and they're all most likely intentional. All I know is, I want to write some T/R, so that's what I'm going to do. Tobias seriously needs to get some tail.

- - - - - - - -

**Prologue.**

I had a dream that I was dead.

I've had a few bad dreams before – but never anything like this. Once I was held hostage in my basement, where my neighbor's cat wore a designer suit and smoked a Cuban cigar while he pointed a gun to my head. Another where I was being chased by a slimy, pink brain blob. It was terrifying – but dreams and nightmares usually have this uncanny sense of timing; it stops right when you're right about to die. In my dreams, I would be waiting for it – to feel the hard, bone-shattering impact of the ground underneath me when I fell, and the explosion of the bullet as it splintered through my skull and made a mess of me everywhere – and it would never come. Dreams are funny that way.

I'm not afraid of much. Dreams that used to petrify me and have me running to my mom's bed when I was six don't do so much as give me a little shiver these days – because I've seen worse, believe me, I've seen worse. One thing you learn about dreams is that they can't hurt you. People who die in your dreams don't die in real life. You wake up, and they're there, as good as you left them, and that fear and anxiety webs away into nothing, air. It's different now. These days, when I wake up, it's like falling into a nightmare. Bad dreams are walks in the park compared to what we have to face when we get out of bed.

The pain was quick – just a flash of terrible, inexplicable agony. Then it was gone. Then it was like my soul had careened out of my body, in a wild and whirling tornado, tearing out of my bones and my flesh. For a minute I stood above them, but everything was faint and ghostly, like a flimsy veil had fallen between me and – them. Cassie, Jake, Marco, Axe, Tobias. Tobias. I saw him, crying, and for a minute I couldn't figure it out. I'd never seen him cry before – crying just wasn't his thing. Manly pride and all that. Didn't exactly help, either, that hawks were an extremely proud species.

Then I realized what had just happened. The shock hadn't settled yet, but it was beginning to. Everything felt fuzzy, and disoriented, and everything was starting to blur away. From the distance I could barely make out everyone's grim faces, and then a body, a big bloody mess of a body – of a girl. Or, at least, what used to be a girl.

It was me.

I was dead.

Or – at least, I was supposed to be. Supposedly. Rachel, dead girl, with the Carrie outfit. But now I'm thinking it was all a dream. Because, well, how else would you explain it? That you were crushed and minced to pieces, and then to wake up the next day, in the middle of nowhere, but in one complete piece and totally, completely, undoubtedly and unfathomably alive?

I had a dream that I was dead.

That's the best explanation I can give you for now.


	2. Waking Up Alive and Naked Ain't Pretty

**CHAPTER 1: Waking up Alive and Naked Ain't Pretty  
**

When I woke up, my head felt like it was the size of a sycamore. Not only was it heavy, but it was all jumbled up inside, like a broken toy that jingled when you shook it because its parts were all busted. I woke up, and nothing made sense.

When my vision finally cleared, I found myself in the middle of the woods. Lying down in the dirt, naked as Eve, and not being able to figure out why or how, except that it was morning, and it was cold, and that rocks were pointy and so were sticks. There was a light fog around, so it was early morning, and my skin was moist – dew. Overnight dew.

But it was awfully quiet for the woods. There wasn't a sound – no birds chirping, no small animals moving, no leaves rustling. It was dead still and silent, that kind of eerie silence that creeps into your bones and doesn't quite settle.

My body was heavy, and sore. My joints weren't working as well as they should, and my balance was way off. It took me a full five minutes to get up and make a futile attempt at trying to find my clothes, but the disorientation and confusion made my head hurt. It was a pulsing kind of pain, that kind that slings from ear to ear, that moves along with your blood. I was naked, with a huge migraine coming on, and didn't have a single clue of where the hell I was. This wasn't looking good at all.

When I heard rustling behind me, along with some heavyset footprints, I didn't act fast enough – as in, cover up. I heard a voice and screeched, jumping behind a large rock.

There's that good ol' bravery for you.

"Ma'am?" It was a young, thin man dressed in a park ranger uniform. I tried not to notice the wanton blush spreading across his face, seeing as how I had other pressing matters to be wary of. Like – being stark naked.

"Huh?" It was the first time I'd ever heard myself squeak. It's amazing what a winning combination of confusion and a grotesque lack of clothes can do to a person's confidence.

"Ma'am, what are you. . . are you all right?"

"I think – I don't know," I cut off abruptly, peeking just from the top of the rock. "I don't know where I am, and I don't know where my clothes are, or what. . ." The end of my sentence drifted off when I realized I didn't remember anything within the past few weeks, all leading up to this. . . awkward moment.

"You're in the Cherokee national park, ma'am."

"That's nice," I swallowed. I thought hard – the name was familiar. Flashes of picnics and junior high hangouts began to scurry through my mind. Okay, so maybe I was getting better. "What day is it?"

"It's a Thursday."

"The date?"

He told me the date. It was November, which explained why it was so cold.

"Ma'am, maybe I should take you to my office. I'm sure we can figure everything out there. Here," he said, shrugging off his jacket. He tentatively reached out to hand it to me behind my rock, and I grabbed it, throwing it on and zipping it up completely. It was a little large, which was good. It covered up what needed to be covered up.

"Thanks," I muttered, still a little embarrassed. I stepped out, feeling the little rocks and the dry, moist dirt underneath the soles of my feet. I could smell it – the pine, the wet bark. "I appreciate this."

"It's no problem," he assured. "Now let's get going – my office isn't that far. Just about a quarter mile. Unless – you prefer that I carry you?" His brow furrowed at this question, and I looked away, clearing my throat.

"No, walking's fine. Walking's great. Let's get to it."

- - - - - -

Memo to self: trying to look for someone when they don't even know their own name is kind of a pain in the ass. This was the problem. This was _my_ problem. Park Ranger Leo was sitting in his little desk with his little computer, calling around, and all I could do was sit there – and occasionally, pace – while trying to jog my currently useless memory.

"Are you sure you don't remember your name?" he asked me as he put down the phone.

"It's Barbara."

He perked up. "Really?"

"No," I said, before he made a face at me. "I just thought I'd give you a little split second of hope. Now I realize it wasn't such a good idea."

He sighed. "You don't remember anything? Anything at all?"

I groaned, sitting back down. I closed my eyes hard, trying to think, but it felt like swimming in darkness. Just then, I saw flashes. I saw a pan, sizzling, and a radio blasting –

"Radio Disney!" I suddenly yelped. "Radio Disney! Somebody used to play Radio Disney at my house. On Saturdays. While we cooked pancakes."

He stared at me, as if waiting for the important information to come spilling out. "_Who_ used to play Radio Disney?"

"My sister."

"And your sister's name is?"

"That I don't know," I answered pathetically, while he lapsed into a thoughtful pause.

"I've just thought of something," he said, before I heard the furious clicking of the keyboard. "A-hah, there you go. The missing persons file from around the county." Then he began to mutter to himself a few indistinguishable phrases, before he made a sound with his mouth. He looked at me, before glancing at the computer. "Rachel. Rachel Berenson. Is that your name?"

I blinked. Suddenly, a warm rush came over me – of what, I didn't exactly know. But it was familiar – God, it was familiar. Rachel. Rachel. "Yes. That's me. That's my name. Rachel." I walked over to his desk, getting over my temporary wooziness. I looked at the screen. "I was missing?"

"Since two weeks ago," he said, reading it off the file. "They looked for you for about four days before they gave up."

"Well, aren't they persevering," I muttered. I looked at my picture – it was a picture I'd taken about a year ago, judging from the length of my hair. I'd had highlights, and I was wearing the dress I'd just bought for a picnic. I'd been trying to impress someone. . . a boy. Which boy? I thought hard, but the images stopped coming.

"Lucky find," he said, as he picked up the phone. "Guess we can say yours was solved. Say, are you sure you don't—"

"Remember?" I finished off for him. "I'll let you know when something pops up, okay, Ranger Leo?" He began to dial in a number. "Who are you calling?"

"County police. They should have your mother's number, and then we can get you home. But you'll be needed for questioning – I hope that's okay."

"Potentially fruitless, but whatever gets me into my own clothes." I looked at his jacket. It had a few old stains on it – mustard, ketchup, and toothpaste on the collar. Not that I wasn't grateful – anything's better than having rocks in places no rock should ever be – but what I wouldn't do for some sweats. I was already sitting back down when he finally put down the phone, grabbing a few things off his desk. "They asked me to take you there. Your mother will be waiting for you."

- - - - - -

On the ride there, I remembered my mother. This was good, and helpful, because it saved me from a potentially awkward encounter at the police station.

Not only did I remember my mother, but I remembered a few other bits and pieces. My sisters, for example. They were the ones that played Radio Disney while I cooked up my pancakes. Jordan and Sara. And Mom was a lawyer. Dad was a news anchor in Seattle. I remembered him, even though he didn't drop by as often as he used to. The last letter I'd gotten from him, he'd had a girlfriend, who had two cats named Ming and Betsy. Seemed a little kooky, but I trusted him and wanted him to be happy.

The memory flashes were sporadic, and inconsistent. They were specific, too. It had revealed to me almost everything I needed to know about my family, but when I tried to dig into what had happened to me to get me in the woods, it closed up, no matter how hard I tried.

"Still trying to remember?" Ranger Leo asked me, glancing at my fraught expression.

"I remember my family. My mom, my sisters, my dad. But I can't remember – I can't remember anything else."

"You will," he said. "Just don't try so hard – you're going to give yourself a headache. It'll trickle out eventually."

"It's a nice thought, but what about when the detectives question me?" I asked. "It's just frustrating, that's all."

"They aren't wolves, you know. They'll have some mercy on you, kid. So you can't remember – you can't help that. They're just, you know, going to check for some bruises on you. See if there's any evidence of force or aggression."

The thought sent a dull stab of fear through me, but nothing too dominant. I was more worried about my memory. The whole questioning was going to be a problem if I didn't remember more soon, but that wasn't what was eating me up. My own curiosity was in the play – what had happened to me? It would've helped if I at least had some kind of an idea, but there was nothing. Just darkness. Like what had happened to me was completely erased from my memory, like the two weeks I was missing was completely gone. Was that possible? Possible or not, I had a lurching feeling in my stomach that whatever happened. . . wasn't going to be able to be explained easily.

When we got to the station, there was a nice stack of clean clothes for me to change into. It was strange to be surrounded by people, almost like my eyes didn't know where to settle, until Ranger Leo had to lead me to the desk of Detective Roy Barnes, the winner that gave me four days to turn up before they decided to stop looking. He was a built, dark-haired and tan man – well kempt, with a few pictures of his wife and kids at his desk. When he saw me, he stood up behind his desk, putting down his coffee mug.

"Jesus, look at this," he said, shaking his head. "Ranger Leo called me, but I didn't think" – he stopped, blinking. "I'm sorry, Rachel, can I get you anything? God, you must be hungry. Sheila," he said to a woman passing by with two mugs, "could you get Rachel some food, please? And some coffee?"

The woman took one glance at me before she left.

"Please, sit down," he said. "Your mother will be here in a few minutes. She was – in awe to hear the news. She dropped everything. I think she was in court, too."

I sat down, feeling more comfortable in my new change of clothes. Sheila came by, handing me a donut and some coffee. I didn't realize it before, but I was famished.

"Rachel doesn't remember anything that's happened to her," Ranger Leo stated, glancing at me as I scarfed down the glazed donut. "Every so often she gets a memory jog, but when it comes to the past two weeks—"

"That's normal," said Detective Barnes, nodding his head. "People tend to suppress traumatic experiences, but usually with the help of our county psychologist it eventually trickles out."

"Traumatic experience?" I repeated, my mouth still full. The coffee burned my tongue, but I didn't mind. "You think I had a traumatic experience?"

"You went missing, Rachel, and woke up – from what I've heard – naked in the middle of the woods, with no recollection whatsoever. _Something_ happened. It's a good thing, however, that you don't seem to have amnesia. Your little jogs of memory ought to be helpful."

"And what if they're not?"

"Well, that's what Dr. Laura is for. She's our certified psychologist. She's very good at her job." He was in the middle of thoughtfully staring me down when we both heard a loud yell, and a blond woman suddenly ambushed me.

"Rachel! Oh my God! I thought you were – we thought you were—" My mother. She was all choked up, her arms tightly wrapped around me, bits of her hair getting caught in my mouth. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're here."

Sara and Jordan soon followed after. It would've been embarrassing, this blond family reunion, if I could've managed to care. Soon after, Mom began to frantically thank Ranger Leo, who just blushed and told her it was no problem. He also said something about chivalry and said not a word about how he'd found me naked like a nudist on a beach in Spain.

They sent me to a doctor, where they made me undress and a woman examined me, sometimes in places I was sure even I hadn't seen in weeks. What they found was shocking, by the general consensus: nothing. With the exception of dirt and a few little rocks, there was nothing, not even a scratch. This relieved my mom, of course, but that little crease in the middle of her forehead didn't disappear like I thought it would.

Next was Dr. Laura, the psychologist Detective Barnes had been talking up to me. She was a redheaded woman with dainty little pearl earrings and framed pictures and drawings of her daughter in her office, not to mention a little pot of petunias right by her windowsill.

"Please, sit," she said, motioning to the large armchair in front of her desk. "Now, tell me, Rachel, how are you feeling?"

"Tired," I admitted. All I wanted was to go home. And shower. "I still don't remember anything that happened."

"Are you afraid?"

I thought about this. Hard. "Just a little. About not knowing, and not knowing if I'll ever get to know. But hey – I didn't get attacked, or anything. That's good news, right?"

She gave me a one-lipped smile. "Yes, that is. Now, tell me. Think back as far as you can. What is the last thing you remember?"

That was when it happened. The flashes, they came back, except this time – it was violent. Bloody. With motion and fire and hate. I saw animals, and people, and animals turning into people, as well as people turning into animals. I saw a snake, and heard screaming, and every bit of my body went still. I remembered something, but I didn't know exactly what. All I knew was: I was sweating, and my heart was pounding in my veins. I could still hear it, faintly: the chilling sounds of battle.

"Rachel?" Dr. Laura said, concerned. "What is it, Rachel?"

"Home," I said, suddenly feeling clammy. "I just want to go home."

- - - - - -

There's no place like home. It's an awful, clichéd saying from a girl with red, glittery shoes and a cute tiny dog, but that doesn't make it any less true. Mom was nervous, and chatty – not to mention a little fidgety. On the way home, she kept glancing at me, as if checking to see if I was really there – or, at least, that I wouldn't disappear. I even turned on the radio to her favorite jazz station to try calming the mood, but it didn't help. All it did was convince her to be a little more secretive and stealthy about her glances.

I'd forgotten how my room looked like. It's funny how that happens, because in your head you get this basic gist of what goes where, but the feeling of the worn carpet underneath my toes, and the scent of my sheets, the fluffiness of my pillows – I'd been missing for two weeks for God-knows-why, and I missed this. I didn't even know I missed it until I walked in, and I got what little sense of normalcy I could possibly get – that is, until I walked over to my dresser. Everything was untouched, left exactly where I'd left them. A little haphazardly, in my opinion. But there were a few pictures cinched in my mirror. One of me, and my friends. And another of me and a boy – there were other people in the picture, but I had obviously folded them out.

I took both of them out carefully, and stared. I felt strange, almost like I was in some foggy haze. I tried to get my memory jogs started again, but it was like trying to start a car with a busted engine. Nothing. I traced over the faces in the picture. . . they were all so familiar. When I looked at them, I felt something in my heart, something deep and profound. They were my friends. Good friends. At least I knew that.

Then – the other picture. It was a good picture. There was nothing fake about it – it was a moment, snapped and caught, and we were laughing. We were sitting close to each other, I was leaning over and looking into his eyes, laughing, and as I looked at it, over and over again, I felt this weird sinking in my bones. Like every part of me became fuzzy. I looked at his face in the picture, and the thumping of my heart began to accelerate. He was cute, and boy, did I know it.

"Honey?"

I put down the pictures. It was my mom, at the door, holding a plate of food.

"I heated you up some food. I figured that coffee and donuts wasn't exactly the feast I imagined giving my daughter when she finally came home, and, well, this isn't much either, but I've already started prepping the food for tonight." She took a look around the room. "Is everything okay? Do you want new sheets?"

"No," I told her. "No, this is fine."

She came in, setting the plate by my dresser. She saw the pictures and picked it up. "These are your friends," she said softly, as if trying to get me to remember. "There's Marco, Cassie, Jake – he's your cousin. You saved him from drowning in a swimming pool once at your uncle Larry's barbeque. This boy, over here," she said, referring to the boy that made my heart race just by looking at his picture, "I don't think I know his name."

Just then, something flickered in my brain. My body stiffened.

"Tobias," I suddenly blurted. She looked up at me, a little alarmed. "His name," I said, trying to calm down, but still reeling from my brain's fun little way of playing picto-rama with me, "is Tobias. He's a friend. Friend of Jake's. So now he's more of a mutual friend thing."

"Oh," she said, taking one last look at the picture, before putting it down. She gave me a long, meaningful gaze. "Rachel. . . I'm so glad you're back. I know everything's a little fuzzy right now, because you can't remember. . . but whatever it is, I'm just glad you're here, and alive."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, sitting back down on the edge of my bed. "And thanks for the food, too. It looks great."

She bent down to kiss my forehead, and all sorts of mushy feelings began to crop up. "I love you," she said, before making her way out of my room.

"Love you too."

- - - - - -

That night, I had a dream that I was dead.

I half in and out, as if I was somewhere in between, and unable to do anything. The scenes were sporadic but vivid, and I could feel the sweat in my pores, the heat against my legs, and the blood trickling from the side of my face. I tasted something bile and metallic in my mouth. My palms were sweaty, and my ankle was sprained. I was pinned down by something vicious, and furry. Not anything of the cuddly category, by any means. Its eyes, black and shiny and evil, burned itself into my memory.

Then there was that boy I saw in the pictures – he was there. Crying. He looked like he was in pain, and my heart began to swell up, and my face began to get hot. Everything became blurry. Then I realized why he looked like he was in pain, like he was going to cry out, any second now, but his body was every bit paralyzed. And how I tried to keep them back, the tears, so I could be strong. Because that was who I was – I remember now. I was strong Rachel. Xena Rachel, wild and fearless. And how I clamped down my jaw, pressing my lips together into a warped smile. A forced one. A pathetic excuse of one. The last moment of my life, and I spent it giving a pathetic excuse of a smile.

Tobias.

"I love you."

Then I heard it – no, I _felt_ it. The crushing, the splintering, the breaking. The heaviness, then lightness – then nothingness.

That was when I woke up with a start. My sheets were tangled around my feet, constraining me, and I was bathed in sweat. My breathing was labored and sharp, my eyes wildly searching my room when it landed on something – a shadow. A figure, by my window. I froze.

"Rachel?" it said.

I squinted through the darkness, my hand numbly searching out for my lamp. I found the button, and flicked it on. I stared at the face by my window, the same I had seen in the pictures. _Jake – he's your cousin. You saved him from drowning in a swimming pool once at your Uncle Larry's barbeque. _

I didn't know who looked worse. The girl who had just woken up to see a person in her room in the middle of the night, or the boy standing by her window who looked like he had just seen a ghost.

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	3. Like it Never Happened

**Chapter 2: Like it Never Happened  
**

"Has it ever occurred to you that doing that – sneaking in through my window in the middle of the night – is a little creepy?" I said. "And illegal?"

He stared at me, his face white and pale. I had a little memory jog again; a short one, about being with Jake at school. On his bad days, I would offer to help – at first by taking his jello, and then by scaring everybody with my sadistic comments.

"Boy," I said dryly. "Do you look glad to see me."

He opened his mouth, letting out a series of incoherent sounds. "God, Rachel. Is it really you? But you're – you're dead."

"I somehow find that very hard to believe," I said, my brow furrowing. It sent bad shivers through my body as I remembered my dream, flashes of it running through my mind. The screaming. The blood. I reached for my glass by my bed and took a nice gulp of water, feeling the strange heat coming off of my body. "Why are you here?"

"I –" he stammered, running a hand through his blond hair, "your mom called my mom. Told her you were back. I heard the screaming over the phone. I just find this all really hard to believe, Rachel. Something strange, something completely off—"

Just then, there was grunting, and a body falling onto the floor, flung inside my room from my window. Jake bent down to help him up, and as I got a glimpse of his face, I remembered him, too. He was from the picture, and he was Marco. Funny, stupid, childish Marco – but good comic relief. As he straightened himself up, another figure stepped in: Cassie. She was the most graceful of the bunch, maneuvering herself quietly through my window. But as the newcomers looked up at me, and as I looked at them, I could feel the electricity. The shock. It made the air tense with anticipation. Relief and happiness flickered across their face, but it wasn't long before the confusion and doubt came along.

"Rachel!" Cassie whispered, running towards me and smothering me in a hug. She had bits of straw stuck to her hair. An image of a barn, and animals flickered in my head. "Oh my God, I can't believe – the last time we saw you, you were dead!"

Marco, funny Marco, stood at the foot of my bed, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He was blinking, overwhelmed, but in the end opted to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Funny," he said. "You don't look anything like the zombies I see on TV. Your skin isn't green, and your brains and eyeballs aren't falling out of your head, and the only noise you're capable of isn't groaning and moaning."

"Hey guys," I said, feeling the familiarity settle into my bones. Cassie took a seat beside me, still in awe. "This is nice, huh? A little late-night trespassing party? Just wondering, do we do this a lot?"

"Your mother said that you don't remember what happened," Jake said, his voice getting low and serious. He looked anxious – in fact, all three of them did. "Is that true? I didn't know whether it was just a front to keep things simple, or whether it was. . . real."

"Simple?" I said. "If I'd done it to keep things simple, don't you think I would've left my clothes on?"

"Wait a minute," Marco cut in. "You were _naked_?"

"In the woods," Cassie said. "Didn't we tell you?"

"Um, I think I've made it clearly obvious the nudity factor of her rebirth was left out."

"Rebirth? So you guys are still really riding on this whole, 'You were dead, now you've come back to life' thing, aren't you?" I reached for my glass of water again. "I think you've been watching too much sci-fi."

Jake sighed, taking a seat next to Cassie. "She doesn't remember. It doesn't seem like anybody does – except us. Tom's back, so is everybody else." He turned his attention back to me. "Two weeks ago, Rachel, we woke up and everything was normal again. You can't imagine how weird that was after years of things not being normal, of being suspicious of everybody around us."

"Normal?" I echoed. Then it happened – inside my head, things began to crop up, like pictures getting pulled up, one by one. Yeerks. Tom. Andalites and Hork-Bajirs. I closed my eyes, clutching my head with my hands. Whenever this happened, it took me a few seconds to get back to normal. My eyes got cloudy and everything around me became faint, except for the screeching inside my head.

"Rachel?" It was Cassie, concerned.

"I'm fine. It's just – I get these little memory jogs. They're a little intense. At first, when I woke up in the woods, I didn't remember anything at all. I didn't even remember my name, or where I was. But later on I started remembering, little by little." I raised my face again, tucking my hair back. "I remember. Normal. Then – the Yeerks." My hands were shaking, so I folded them underneath my legs, out of sight. "So, let's get back to the whole 'I died' thing."

"Rachel, you died. We were all there. Tobias was—"

"Yeah, you were mince-meat," said Marco. "It was horrible. Nobody expected—"

"So I get it," I said abruptly. "That's the general consensus, then. I died, but how do you explain this? I mean, I'm pretty much alive. My limbs aren't falling off and I smell like," I said, pausing to sniff myself, "pretty good, actually. I don't remember a thing that happened over the past two weeks I was 'missing.' But from what you've said, I wasn't missing at all. I was dead."

"It isn't just you," said Jake. Boy, that eternal furrow in his brow just wasn't going away. "Everybody. Everybody who died, who we killed – they're all still alive. And they don't remember. It's like. . . it never happened." They all sat there, unmoving, as a solemn silence fell over them. "Like it never happened."

I tried my best to comprehend the situation – with the pieces I had, and without the pieces I didn't. It was hazy. My blood was pounding in my ears. "But, I mean – is that so bad?" I said, faintly, as everybody looked at me. I cleared my throat, speaking up. "Is that so bad? That we get everybody we loved back, and everything's normal again? How many years of our lives did we lose to the war? I mean, don't we deserve that – this, this kind of peace, this chance to live our lives like normal teenagers without worrying about alien infestations and dying before we really ever make it to the prom?"

"That isn't the point, Rachel," said Jake. "What if this is just an illusion? What if this is just another game?"

"I don't know about you, but my mother's roast beef seemed pretty real tonight at dinner."

"Your mom made roast beef?" whined Marco. "And what did I have for dinner? Mac and Cheese with Dog combo, straight from the freezer section of the local supermarket. Do you have any left over, you think?"

"But what if it's not?" I said, ignoring Marco. "What if the Big Guy Upstairs or Big Woman Upstairs or whatever just dealt us the hand of mercy – which, by the way, it was about damn time – and decided to give us another chance?"

"What you're talking about," said Jake, "is highly unlikely."

"And alien infestations aren't?" I snapped. "How about you rest your suspicions for awhile, Jake, huh? I mean, for the record, I like being alive. And if what you said is true about me being dead, then I'd like to have at least a week being normal and maybe even do some shopping, have a little trim and a facial. At least until the world ends again." I stood up. "And I don't think this much worrying's all that good for your health, either. You're 16 going on 70, Jake."

"Maybe Rachel's right," Cassie said, her voice soft and calm. "Maybe we should just try to live our lives again, do the things we missed out on. But if something suspicious happens. . ."

"Then I ditch my facial," I said.

Jake was quiet, and he seemed tired. Finally, he gave in. "Fine. You're right."

"Great!" said Marco, getting up. "Now how about that roast beef, huh, Rach?"

"Downstairs. My mom should still be in her office, so stop by and say Hi at your own peril. But I'm sure, you know, she won't mind, seeing as how she just got her missing daughter back today."

With a whoop, Marco headed out, with Jake and Cassie trailing behind.

"Jake?" I called out, feeling a little lump in my throat. "Tobias. . . where is he? Or – how is he, because I don't remember—"

"I don't know," Jake said, a little tersely, before softening his voice. "We don't know. He took off after you died, and then he just. . . shut us off."

"You don't think I could send him a little birdgram, do you? One that said, 'Hey! I'm still alive! Come by and see the miracle!'?"

Cassie gave us one last glance before she headed downstairs with Marco.

"I think he just needs time," he said.

"More time to think I'm still dead? Don't you think that's a little unfair?" I sighed, fisting my hands together. "Look, never mind. I'll figure it out. Once I remember everything again. . ."

"You really don't remember?" he said. "You really don't remember how you died?"

"No," I lied. "I don't remember how I died at all."

He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to read my face. "Good," he said softly. "I just mean. . . it would've been tough, having to remember that."

I looked away, heading towards my door. He followed closely behind. "Guess I'm just going to have to take your word for it."

- - - - - -

I wasn't ready for school yet. At least, that's what my mom and Dr. Laura agreed on. So while Jake, Cassie and Marco went to the daily institution I stayed at home, watching TV and catching up on my magazine subscriptions. If I wasn't at home, I was at the station, or at Dr. Laura's office, doing memory games to make her feel better about herself. She also made me participate in these psychoanalysis activities, some with inkblots and others with letters and pictures.

"It's quite possible," said Dr. Laura, looking a little disgruntled, "that you've repressed the memory. It's hard to unlock in certain cases. So it must mean that what happened to you was truly, truly horrible."

I nodded my head, although her conclusion didn't make much sense. For something so horrible, I didn't have a single bruise or scratch on me to make it valid. Then again, there was that other theory: the one about me being dead for two weeks. That one wasn't looking so valid in a normal person's eyes, either.

I waited for the others to come back from school in Cassie's barn. It helped my memory come back into place; from the moment I stepped in, it was like a large gust had overtaken my body. I'd had to sit down. Everything came back to me about the place – our meetings. I started to remember every single one. I even remembered the animals, and our transformations. By the time they came in, I'd even started to remember Pre-Algebra.

She had a few birds in rehab, with bandaged legs or wings. I chose to sit by this area, stroking them and feeding them, all the while not being able to stop thinking about Tobias. He apparently was nowhere to be found. What was a girl to do, really? It wasn't like I could just call up airports and ask which way he'd gone – no, he was his own personal airplane, and he left no tracks behind. I even thought about trying to morph again, just so I could try to call out to him – to see if he'd hear me. Even if Jake was right, that he'd shut them off, he'd still hear _me_, right?

"Getting reacquainted?" Cassie said, as she and Jake walked in, followed by Marco, who was eating a popsicle.

"Just a little," I said, putting the bird back in the cage.

"Figures she would go straight for the birds," said Marco. "I think she's got a fetish."

"I was thinking," I said, as they plopped down on the benches. Cassie took off her jacket and started to gather supplies to tend to the animals. "Maybe I should try morphing again, you know, just to see if he could hear me. Tobias, I mean."

The three of them stiffened. Cassie looked at me, then Jake. Marco shook his head.

"I'm afraid that's a no-can-do," said Marco.

"And why not?" I demanded. "Listen, if you still think I'm too weak, I think I could prove to you—"

"It's not that, Rachel," said Cassie. "It's just that. . . we've lost them. Our morphs, our ability to morph. We've all tried, many times – but it's like. . . everything's back to normal again. Like it never happened."

I stared at her. There was a big, empty feeling inside me. Hollowness. "What are you saying?"

"It means we have no way of contacting Tobias," said Jake, slamming down one of his textbooks. "Unless he decides to come back, we don't know if we'll ever see him again. We don't even know if he's still a hawk, or if he's still got his morph."

I couldn't help it – I felt the anger, heat, creeping up the nape of my neck. "So that's it? We're not even going to try?"

"We've already tried. But you – you could still try." Cassie was trying to be nice, but it didn't hide her unconvinced tone.

"Fine," I snapped. I opened the cage, fetching out the bird. I shut my eyes, concentrating, as I pressed my hand against its head. It became still. . . but nothing. I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel that tingling, that seeping of animal DNA into my system, that exhilarating weirdness. So I tried again. And again. And again.

But there was nothing.

I swore, returning it to its cage. "Great. So you're right. Everything's normal again, we've lost our powers, and we have no clue where or what Tobias is. For all we know, he could be wandering around, not knowing who he is."

"Tobias survived as a predator in the wild," said Cassie. "I'm pretty sure he can take care of himself, Rachel."

"Right, so we should just leave it at that, then?" I said, unnerved. "He can take care of himself, so why even bother?"

"For a girl that isn't supposed to remember much," quipped Marco, "you sure do remember how to be a drama queen."

"Shut up, Marco."

"So you remember a lot then?" Jake asked. "Now, at least?"

"I remember most," I answered, crossing my arms. "But still a big black hole on how I ended up in the woods, or anything that happened remotely close to that."

"I heard your mom talking about it to my parents," said Cassie, feeding some antibiotics to an injured baby dear. "She said that Dr. Laura isn't having much luck extracting information. That you've repressed it, and that means it was really traumatizing."

"Extracting," said Marco. "What a fun word. And speaking of traumatizing? Can we _talk_ about the meat loaf at lunch today?"

Cassie smiled, but Jake was off in his own world again, while I still had my mind lingering on Tobias.

"Good. Great. You're a wild crowd tonight," he said dryly.

"When are you coming back to school?" asked Cassie.

"Monday," I said. "Looking forward to it. Being stuck at home is great and all, but I'm really not digging Dr. Laura."

"They said you would have to still meet with the school therapist, though."

"A school therapist? We actually _have_ one of those?" said Marco, halfway finished with his snack. "Where was this _school therapist_ when I was mortally humiliated in my biology class when I left my zipper down during a class presentation? Or when Lenny Leiberman pantsed me in front of the whole west hall?"

"That was _you_?" I said, suddenly remembering. "God, Marco. Maybe that's why nobody's ever heard of her. It's because she's spent the past two years hiding from _you_."

- - - - - -

Jake was right. It was a little weird – remembering what I remembered now – walking around, seeing everything back to normal again. And you'd think it'd be easy to let go of that suspicion like that, like dropping a heavy load you'd been carrying for miles. But it wasn't. I knew what Jake meant. It was in our blood, now. Before, we slept but we didn't really _sleep_. It was just tiredness and exhaustion fraught with this unrelenting wariness. We were always conscious of what was going on, and that made us dead.

The more I remembered, the more I felt. The thrill and excitement of battle, the danger. The danger – I could've had it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe even a little afternoon snack. Maybe that was why I died. When you're a little too gung-ho about danger like I was, death is bound to happen.

But while that lingered in the back of my mind, I was nowhere near the edge of it like Jake. Leader of the bunch, sure. But he sure did need to learn how to relax.

"Let's talk about birthdays," my mom said as she came home, setting a few grocery bags on the counter.

"Sure," I said, flipping through a magazine and having some juice. I got up and began to put away the groceries. "Who's birthday are we talking about?"

"Yours, of course!" she exclaimed, taking a chicken out of the freezer. Funny, I didn't remember my mom cooking this much before. Usually it was take-out five times a week, while the other two were spent having dinner at Cassie's or Jake's house. "It's in a month. Don't tell me you forgot?"

I paused. "Right. Sorry, Mom. I've just been a little out of it."

"It's your seventeenth, so it has to be big. Or – however you want it, but I'd like a big bash to celebrate." She was microwaving the chicken, all the way picking apart asparagus and rinsing them in the sink. "What do you think?"

"It's fine." I put away the soup cans in the pantry, folding up the bags. "Anything's fine."

"Oh, Rachel, don't talk like that," she suddenly said, her tone curt. I froze, and she turned around, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, honey, but this means a lot to me. I know I've never really given you much of a birthday, and I want to make it up to you."

She wasn't exactly lying. A few times my dad flew in to take me out, but that was before. Usually now he just sent packages, while mom worked, and I usually celebrated it with Cassie, Jake, Marco and Tobias by going to the mall or the café. Nothing particularly riveting or huge.

I knew why she was doing this, of course. I could imagine the sort of guilt lying around a parent when certain tragic things happen, so I cut her some slack.

"Sure, Mom. A big party. That's cool."

"Great! You can invite anybody you want. Invite the whole school!"

"Let's not put that in stone yet," I said. "I'm not even back in school yet. Who knows if I'll even be able to do enough mingling by the time my birthday comes around. Better yet, I can just toss them out into the hallway, see who picks them up and doesn't have much going on, on a Saturday night."

"It'll be fun," she said, peeling the carrots. "Really. We can even have it at that café you and your friends like going to so much. I'll tell you what – I'll call tomorrow, see what arrangements I can make."

- - - - -

At school, I was known as the Girl Who Went Missing. I could remember a time or two when I was quite popular, but it was never anything like this. My first day back at school, everybody gawked, and I had a feeling it wasn't because of the one-inch trim I'd gotten on Saturday.

"It's like we're sitting with Sasquatch," remarked Marco during lunch. He had made a hut with his chicken fingers, looking around at the watching, jittery eyes around us.

"Everybody's wondering what happened to you," said Cassie, taking a bite of her veggie burger. "Bernie Lawson, the editor of the newspaper, even asked me to ask you for an interview. Apparently you're front page stuff."

"Maybe they caught wind of the whole naked part of waking up in the middle of the woods," I snorted. "No thanks. I'd rather not risk the integrity of the school newspaper." I was turning an apple in my hands, feeling antsy. "So. How are you guys? School fine? Does the whole 'being back to normal' thing still give you the wiggins?"

"It's taken some getting used to," said Cassie. "It's hard sometimes, but nice. Sometimes I think," she said, quieting her voice so that nobody would overhear, "that it would be a lot easier for us if we didn't remember."

"Yeah, how do you figure that?" said Marco. "Why is it that everybody starts coming back to life like Jesus on Easter and their memory is wiped clean – and we're the only ones that remember everything? I mean, what if they _do_ remember – and they're just in denial?"

"Tom's taken up basketball again in college," said Jake. "He's as in love with the game as ever. Anyway, I don't know about the whole denial thing. You'd think there'd be at least one person who'd crack."

"But who has the power to do this?" I asked. "To bring people back, and to make things normal again, and to take away our. . . well, you know," I said, warily glancing around.

"Maybe the universe and its parts were just feeling nice," said Marco. "Besides, we still haven't figured out why you were naked."

". . . in the woods," added Cassie, giving Marco a disturbed look.

"That too. What if – hey! What if you died, but they decided they didn't want you, so they spit you right back out? I mean, you are a pretty scary girl, Rachel."

"Thanks, Marco. Ever think about passing Idiot 101 sometime?"

He beamed. "Passed with flying colors, Goldilocks. How about finding yourself three nice, vicious bears?"

I gave Marco a sardonic look, while Jake ate thoughtfully. His and Cassie's hands touched for a second when she reached for her book, and they both hid their hands away, acting as if nothing happened. I felt a little lurch inside me, a little lovesick ping, and I looked away.

"I saw that," said Marco. "Listen, Jake, Cassie. Ever thought about letting your love out of the closet? I hear it does wonders for relationships."

Cassie blushed, and Jake changed the subject. "We're remnants of a war," he said. "Maybe it. . . whatever it was that did this, thought it was best for only us to remember. That way we could have hope, or at least, everybody could. Because if we remembered, then it wouldn't have to happen again."

"Poetic," I said, nodding. "Somebody's been reading their assigned English books. Listen, lunch is ending in ten minutes, and I still have to get my books. I'll meet you afterschool."

They all muttered their goodbyes and I grabbed my things, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes inspecting every visible inch of me, heading out to the library. Once I got there, however, was the hard part. I wasn't sure whether the librarian had taken his lunch break, and I still had a few books I had to get for class. Retrieving the crumpled list from my pocket, I decided to try and look for them myself.

I was in one of the dozens of stacks when somebody crept up behind me.

"Looking for something?"

I nearly yelped. That's the thing with quiet, eerie places. People creeping up on you tend to make your flesh jump off of your bones. I turned around, and there was a boy – my year. Light brown hair, nice green eyes, and an easy smile. I'd seen him around before. He was in a few of my classes last year.

"A book," I said, trying to get my heart to stop pounding. One of the many repercussions of surprise, I guess.

"Yes," he said, waiting for me to go on. "That would explain why you're at the library, right? Looking for a book?"

I laughed. It was the best way of trying to not seem like an idiot. "A book for advanced biology. Mr. Goode wasn't at his desk, so I thought—"

"He's out taking a smoke," he said. "Apparently sitting around books all day is very stressful. I'm Elliot," he said, holding out his hand.

I shook it. "You were in a few of my classes last year," I said.

"All but one, actually. But that's fine. I've heard you don't really remember much." He broke off, then, catching himself. "God, that sounded bad, didn't it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine. Something verbal is actually a nice change from the constant staring."

"Right. The staring. Everybody's wondering, that's all. It's kind of a small world we live in, so when something like that happens. . . it opens their eyes. They get curious and alarmed and interested." He was nice, and he had a pair of great eyes. I realized this while he was looking at me, a little too profoundly for a boy that had just stumbled across a random girl in the library. I looked away.

"The biology book. Do you think. . .?"

"Sure!" he said, a little frazzled. "Yes. Definitely. I know this place like the back of my hand." He caught himself again. "Let's just pretend I didn't just let you know how pathetic I am."

- - - - - - -

In biology we learned all about the food chain. Riveting, especially when accompanied by a nice nature video. Hawks, apparently, were at the top of the pyramid. So we spent about half of the class period watching a video about hawks, and I spent about half of the class period thinking about a certain hawk I used to know. Especially after my encounter with Elliot in the library, it got me thinking. More like feeling, actually. I liked to think that Tobias would get over it soon enough and come by for a visit. . . but even in my hoping and wishing I knew just how unlikely that was. He was far gone. For all he knew, I was dead, and nothing mattered anymore.

How could I do it? How could I possibly let him know? It was impossible.

Just then, a note was passed to me. I looked up. It was from Cassie, sitting one table away.

_I know how much you miss him. I'm sorry._

I tucked the note away. In the back of my mind, I knew she didn't get it – not completely. Nobody ever really could. Nobody had spent the last few years loving a boy that spent most of his days as a hawk, eating rabbits and rats. Nobody had spent the last few years trying to convince that same boy that he was _someone_. Nobody had died, and remembered it every time she went to sleep.

It's funny because I hadn't expected to love him. It just happened, just like that time I just kissed him, and like that time I just died. Things happen, and you aren't ready for it, but you do what you can to make it better. I loved him, and it was that desperate, intense kind of love – the kind of love soldiers have, just as they're about to go into war and possibly even die. The kind that you take with you, the kind that you hope will save you, and the kind that you know is the only thing that's keeping you. . . human.

I was young. Nobody would understand.

I avoided Cassie's eyes because I thought she would see what I was thinking, but from the corner of my eye I saw her watching me, a solemn look on her face, before she turned back to the video. Cassie and I, we had our own relationship problems. She was in love with Jake. I was in love with Tobias. But the difference was: one was here, and one wasn't.

Please review!


	4. Considering the Circumstance

**A/N:** A long chapter this time! And, well, I don't wanna ruin the fun, but. . . a little birdie told me that there was a surprise at the end of this chapter.

**CHAPTER 3: Considering the Circumstance**

Dr. Stevens was the school therapist – a figure that everybody thought was just a myth, like unicorns and aliens. There really was no explaining why the school had needed a therapist all this time except that maybe they had some extra money to blow off and wanted to give the students the option of being emotionally stabilized by a so-so doctor with an I Like to Read poster and a penchant for goatees. Another plausible reason was that the school administration thought their kids were seriously disturbed and needed some major calming down.

This was my third meeting with him, and he was late. I'd been sitting in the stuffy leather seat for about ten minutes, waiting and looking around. I even took a peek at his CD collection – he had two Michael Bolton albums, fairly scratched. Pretty dismal CD collection, but I doubt he spent his free time browsing new music. He had a cramped bookshelf of self-help books, which didn't bode all that well for anyone.

"Ms. Berenson," he said, finally coming in. He closed the door behind him. "Sorry about the wait. I was out getting a Diet Coke."

"No problem," I said. "I understand the hankering for caffeinated diet beverages."

He sat down at his desk, setting his Diet Coke aside. "So. How is your day so far?"

I pressed my lips together. We always started out with the butt-numbing small talk.

"Fine. Aced a quiz in biology. Broke a pencil in calculus. I even managed to snag the window seat in English, so I'd say – a better day than most, minus the pencil. Sometimes there are casualties in a better-than-most day. The pencil died for a good cause."

He made a slight impression with his eyebrows. He then transitioned into the other questions. "How's your mother?"

"She's fine. Motherly."

"You told me before that she's been cooking more often than she ever used to. Why do you think this is?"

"I can only assume it's because she's tired of take-out, or she's vying for Martha Stewart's job. The other day I think I caught her weaving baskets."

Dr. Stevens had impressed me during our second meeting, silently bearing and putting up with my sarcastic quips far longer than any respectable adult. Then again, maybe this was all telling him something: that I was a repressed teenager with a lot of bitterness and resentment.

Granted, I wasn't doing this to make things difficult for him. I know how it's like to have people make things difficult for you when things are already hard. I said these things to keep myself amused, and it kept my sharp tongue preoccupied. It wasn't fun having strangers who were taught to look at you as an emotional cupboard they could pilfer through and make conclusions about prod through your life, stomping their big heavy shoes everywhere and then write it all down in their reports.

"If you want to ask me about what happened," I said, "just ask. Though I doubt I can tell you much. You'd be stuck in the same place as Dr. Laura, and if you've got control issues like she does, then I suggest we avoid it and break out the board games."

"What happened to you isn't what's relevant here, Rachel," he said. He scratched a patch in his goatee. "It's how it could have possibly affected you – mentally, emotionally. Many victims who go through traumatic instances, though they don't remember much, still suffer some sort of mental consequences. I'm here to help you."

"You're here to dissect me," I said pointedly. "That's your job. Break me open, find out what's wrong, and maybe fix me up with a few passages from Chicken Soup for the Soul and a self-motivational talk involving a mirror and the phrase 'I am here, and I am strong' fifty times."

He sighed. "You're a very headstrong girl. And very resistant to authority."

"Now how'd you figure that?"

"I understand this may have something to do with your peers' treatment of you ever since you returned to school. They've been staring, yes?" He looked at me, his face pulled down into a serious expression. "Look, Ms. Berenson. Sometimes we don't remember things because we subconsciously don't want to remember them – and this isn't our fault. When terrible things happen, the mind does what it can to protect us, and sometimes that means to bury it deep, deep inside. This is fairly common."

"If this is common, then why aren't there queues of students waiting outside your office? I've heard some pretty scary stories about kids' encounters with the lunch meat."

He smiled a small smile. "Not every student goes missing for two weeks and wakes up in the woods." He took a sip of his Diet Coke. "Now, I am simply here to make sure you're emotionally stable. I'm not here to poke you a stick and see if you come up and bite."

"Oh, I'm stable," I said, getting up. "Stable as can be. Stable as a table. Can I leave? I've got a lot of homework to get to, not to mention run to the store to buy another pencil."

He nodded, signaling the end of another useless meeting. "I'll see you next week."

I headed out, making it out just a few minutes before the bell rang. I was just stuffing my things into my locker when I dropped my broken pencil, rolling out onto the floor.

Cassie picked it up. "Yours? There are teeth marks on it."

I snatched it away from her, tossing it in my locker. "It's had a rough day. It's not easy being a skinny piece of wood and constantly overused by long, boring lectures."

"How was the meeting with Dr. Stevens?" she asked.

"Informational," I said, closing my locker. "He listens to Michael Bolton and reads self-help books, namely with the title 'If I Believe, I Can Do Everything I've Always Wanted to' with several variations."

Afterschool, Cassie and I met up with Jake and Marco. Since her parents were using the barn with some colleagues, we settled in my house, where Marco comfortably settled with two bags of chips and several cans of soda.

"I gotta tell you, Rach," he said, nuzzling a bag of Doritos, "ever since you came back, your pantry has been full. It's like it refills itself every day. It's miraculous. You've got an entirely whole new box of twinkies today."

Just then, something flickered through my mind. I braced myself for another one of my memory flashes, shutting my eyes tight, as I saw something. . . blue. And furry. It clouded over my brain and the kitchen became distant. . .

"Rachel?" Jake said, worried. "What is it?"

I opened my eyes, wide. I struggled to find the word. "Ax."

Their reactions were simultaneous. Their faces became stricken with horror and shock, not to mention confusion. The chip Marco had placed in his mouth fell into his lap. It was a long moment, terse and heavy, before I swallowed hard and finally spoke up.

"So I take it. . . you guys didn't—"

"No, not until – not until you mentioned it," said Jake, suddenly upset, getting up to pace around the kitchen. "How could we possibly forget about him? After everything strange that's been happening, and with Tobias disappearing, and with you reappearing, it's just not possible that Ax—"

"Where'd he go?" said Marco. "Did the missing member of the Blue Man Group with four legs run away?"

"No," said Cassie. Her expression was grave. "He's disappeared. He's not here anymore, remember? Everything's back to the way things used to be. That means. . . Ax wouldn't be on earth."

"So where would he be?"

"I don't know. But he's not here." Cassie pursed her lips. "I don't think we forgot about him. I just think we weren't supposed to remember him."

"Oh," said Marco. He numbly reached for the fallen chip and put it back in his mouth, letting out a loud crunch. "So this is what it feels like to step into Bizarro World."

"But Rachel," said Jake, "how'd you remember? I mean, all of us clearly forgot him enough to never even realize his nonexistence these past three weeks, and your memory isn't even fully restored yet."

"I don't know. All I know is, Marco mentioned twinkies, and there it was. A memory flash of something blue and furry and embarrassingly awkward as a human. It took me a while to remember exactly who it was. . . just like the three of you. The looks on your faces. . ."

Jake sat down. "This is weird. Too weird."

"And that changes our lives how?" said Marco. "Think about it, our lives have always been on the cusp of flying monkeys and the Land of Oz."

"So, what?" I asked, looking at Jake and Cassie. "Is this bad or good?"

"Too early to tell," answered Cassie. "It is weird, but Marco's got a point."

"That's it," I said, sitting back down. "The world is ending. Marco finally has a point, and the apocalypse is here."

"Ha, ha," Marco said, throwing a chip at me. "I'll have you know, the apocalypse happened some time ago, and we narrowly managed to avoid it. Unless it's come back all dressed up, I believe apocalypse is absent and thus we are only left with—"

"Marco, shut up."

- - - - -

When I turned thirteen, my mom gave me the talk. No, not _that_ talk. The "Don't ever wait by the phone for a boy to call" talk – that's the one. And she told it to me with such unbelievable and whimsical passion that I had no choice but to be a firm believer in it. Not that I'd waited around for boys to call much before, but it taught me a little secret about the way the world of blossoming adolescent attractiveness worked: the ones that waited were rarely the ones that got called.

It was pathetic, but you could say I was waiting for a boy to call. Very subtly, of course, with as less visible pain and impatience as possible – but nevertheless, I was waiting. Not so much for a call, though – or, hold that thought, maybe. How was I supposed to know how he'd choose to communicate with me? I didn't even know whether he was a human or a bird. So I watched both my window and the phone.

I had never reached such a low for a boy. True, I loved him, but Tobias's extremely antisocial change of pace was really starting to piss me off.

So much so that it began to leak out of my usually well-kept charade. It was a shame, really – and I thought I was doing so well.

"Geez, Rachel, look at your face," said Marco. "I think you need a little private date with two men named Ben and Jerry tonight."

I swore at him. I was in a foul mood.

He whistled, while Cassie sent me a look and Jake kept his eyes straight ahead. Seeing Jake's intentional avoidance to talk or deal with Tobias's disappearance was really starting to grate on my nerves, and Cassie was well aware of it. She could feel my frustration, and I could tell she was a little exasperated with Jake as well.

"Tell you what," said Marco. "For your birthday, I'll get you a stress ball and a gallon of rocky road ice cream."

"Or you could offer yourself up as a punching bag," I growled.

He laughed. "I love you, Rach, but not that much." He put on an innocent face. "By the way, your birthday – speaking of that momentous little occasion, it's coming up. Any plans?"

"My mom booked the café," I muttered, not in the mood to discuss anything celebratory.

"Great!" said Marco. "Is there going to be cake? What kind? I hope it's that fudge chocolate kind. That's my favorite. You don't think you could pass that along to your mom, do you?"

"I'll tell you what," I said. "You don't show up, and I will personally bake you that cake and send it through the mail."

He feigned a look of hurt. "Ouch, Rach. Your broken heart is starting to give me a broken ego."

Cassie looked sympathetic. "Look, Rachel, I'm sure it won't be long. I'm sure Tobias—"

"No you aren't," I said, feebly trying to round the sharp edge of my words. "Cassie, Tobias is – he's—" I couldn't go on. The words clustered up around the middle of my throat into a stubborn, painful lump. I hated feeling this desperate – I wasn't used to this. In all of our years of a silent war, I'd never felt this way, like I wanted so badly to reach out at something only to grasp air. I was getting worried, and I was losing sleep. I didn't know where he was and I was starting to think that maybe – he'd never come back.

It was scary how much that terrified me.

"You're going to be all right," she assured me. "And Tobias is fine. He can survive on his own."

Words gurgled up my throat, threatening to spill out – but I locked my jaw and held them back. _But what about me? How am _I_ supposed to survive_?

"I need to get something from my locker. I'll see you guys later," I said, a little tersely, walking in the other direction without waiting for a reply.

I went to the bathroom, splashing some water on my face, trying to calm myself down. I had another meeting with Dr. Stevens and I couldn't afford to get all unraveled. So I got a drink of water and headed towards my locker to get my books.

"Rachel." I looked up. It was Elliot, the boy from the library.

I tried to give him a smile. Hopefully it didn't look as lame as it felt. "Hey."

He cleared his throat, looking a little shy. "I was hoping you'd come back to the library."

"Oh," I said, shutting my locker. "Did I forget something?"

"No," he said, laughing under his breath at a joke I wasn't sure I caught. "You didn't forget anything. Look, I promise you I'm not just some freak that sits around an empty library. I have a free period, so I help out. And, you know, nobody really all that interesting ever comes in."

I looked at him, _really_ looked at him. I felt a little flush across my cheeks when I finally saw where he was going with this.

". . .Enter, me," I said, hesitantly.

"Yeah," he said, giving me a nervous smile. "Enter you."

I silently sighed. "Look, I get the whole interest factor, okay? I went missing for two weeks, and then I turned up. There's a theory going around that I was abducted by aliens or I joined a cult and wimped out at the last minute. But I assure you, the theories are far more interesting than I am. You don't have to woo me to get the story. I don't even know what the story is."

He looked a little confused. "I'm not here because I wanted to know what happened to you, Rachel. I'm here because," he said, tentative, and giving a little smile, "I want to see you. Some place other than the library. Preferably somewhere even outside of school, like at the café."

I blinked. Well, this was new. "I assume what you're cryptically talking about," I said slowly, "is a date."

"Yeah. Cryptically. A date."

I bit my lip. "And I assume I just came off as a really big jerk."

"Not a really big one. Just a small one. Moderate-sized. Not enough to scare me away, at least." He stood there, hopeful. "So what about it? Friday night?"

"Look," I said. "Elliot, I'm sure you're a nice guy – not just nice, what a crappy adjective, right? You're a _great_ guy. You're a _magnificent_ guy. But I'm going to have to think about it. Is that okay?"

His face faltered, but he kept up the smile. "Of course. You called me magnificent. That's worth waiting for, right?"

It was a horrible thing. Now there were _two_ people playing the waiting game. He was waiting for me to say yes, and I was waiting for a little birdie to come back home. The only question was: who was willing to wait longer?

- - - - -

I had dreams. Wishful dreams. Dreams where I turned into a hawk and rode the thermals and looked for him. Dreams where I actually found him, and brought him back home.

There were other dreams, too. Girly dreams that I was sure were just a spin-off from another one of the painful fantasies I'd conjure up during English while Brutus verbosely schemed to kill Caesar. There was one where he'd just show up in the middle of the night – through my window, of course, which seemed to be the most popular method of getting into my house.

While Elliot was one of the lesser pressing matters on my mind, it still forced its way to the front; every time Elliot would see me in the hall, he would give me a little hopeful smile. Avoiding the subject got increasingly harder as the days went by and he waited for an answer.

"What's up with Elliot?" asked Cassie, catching his little smile and wave to me at the hall. "Seems to me like he's gotten it in his mind to get really friendly with you."

I worked the combination on my lock. "He asked me out," I said lowly.

"_Elliot_? Elliot _asked you out_?" After the initial shock wore off (though on some level I should have been insulted that she was so shocked), Cassie was thoughtful. "You know – and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Rachel, but maybe. . . maybe you should give it a try. I'm not saying give him the boyfriend plaque already, but just to give it a try. See if it clicks."

I felt a little sting inside, even though I knew she was right – on some level.

"It's been a month and a half," said Cassie. "I know it's still early, but how long are you going to wait for him, Rachel? I know you still love him, but it wouldn't hurt to start taking baby steps forward. Not now. But soon."

"You're wrong," I said. "It would. It does, just thinking about it." I paused, trying not to let this sink into my chest. I hated the feeling of guilt and betrayal. It was too heavy. "But I told Elliot I would think about it."

"Oh. Good. That's a good start. Maybe you can invite him to your party."

I nodded. Cassie opened her mouth, before closing it again, hesitating.

"Rachel, I'm not – I mean, I hope you know—"

"I know," I said.

"It's just, you know. It's what would be healthy for you."

It's funny that now Cassie was treating me like another one of her wounded animals. I couldn't get too angry with her, though. It wasn't her fault – Jake wasn't exactly treating her like she was the world's best sweetheart, either.

"Yeah, sure. Healthy," I muttered. "Like Brussels sprouts."

- - - - - -

My mom was over the moon about my birthday. She even took off the whole day to make sure everything was prepped and ready. She picked me up from school and brought me home to get ready while she picked up the cake and the rest of the things she'd ordered. Once she got home, however, she raved on and on about it. Apparently, a lot of people were coming. Even people I didn't know. My mom's coworkers, Sara's friends, Jordan's friends, and some second cousins from some place I'd never even heard of – and I liked to think I paid attention to at least half of the geography unit in my history class.

"Now, don't peek at your cake," she said, putting the box in the refrigerator. If the box was any indication, it was going to be the biggest cake I'd ever seen. "Oh, and your dad's coming."

I froze. "Dad? Dad's coming?"

"Of course. He left this morning. He should be on time, if his flight goes accordingly. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, honey, but he wanted it to be a surprise. He really wanted to take a trip down here, especially when. . ." She cleared her throat. "But things were a little too complicated. The station's been real tight on him. Anyway, he said he couldn't miss your birthday."

For once, I was actually grateful that my dad was coming down. It was a good distraction – and at least one more person I'd know in the sea of people I didn't.

After finishing my homework, we headed over to the café – and boy, when my mom sets her mind on something, she really does a hell of a job. The café was done up with streamers and balloons, not to mention a large, colorful banner with the words, HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL! reaching across the room. I felt a little awkward. I felt a little embarrassed. It would take some time getting used to, this whole having-a-big-shindig business.

The owner of the café, Bert, greeted me a happy birthday. Technically, it wasn't my birthday yet – it was tomorrow – but I just nodded along and smiled. I sat down with him and helped him with the party favors.

"Your mom really went all out this year," he said, wrapping one of the candy bars in gift tissue. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Yeah," I said. "But at least I'm spending it here. That'll be of some comfort when my party guests arrive – only a quarter of whom I actually know."

"I heard about that," he said, nodding. "Your mother's friends."

"It's no big deal. She planned this, she can invite whoever she wants, just as long as nobody cakes me – and clowns. No clowns. Clowns are deal-breakers."

Around seven, people began to arrive. Cassie, Jake and Marco were one of the first. Marco never disappointed my expectations and immediately wanted to know what kind of cake I had, while Jake was actually making an effort to seem friendly and sociable since. . . well, since the war. It was no secret now: Jake had changed. But at least he was making an effort. Sometimes it was tough to tell with Jake these days – he could be even more distant than Tobias was, and Tobias had grown up with lousy aunts and uncles that played Hot Potato with him, not to mention the fact that he never really had any friends, pre-scary glowing alien cube. Things had been tough on Jake, but sometimes I found it hard to sympathize. Jake and I, even though we shared some part of the same gene pool, never really saw eye-to-eye. We had different priorities. Especially when it came to Tobias.

I tried hard to forget how I died – really, I did. Because Jake was right. It was tough reliving it every night and remembering that he'd sent me even though he knew that I would get off'ed by some polar bear Yeerk. But the thing was, I knew his thinking, and I knew why he did what he did. I was the only one who could guarantee to get the job done; it came with the whole fearless bravado thing. It'd be pathetic to say that when I went in for the mission, I felt the danger tingling in every part of my body, but it never occurred to me that I would die. The option was always there, of course – but it was always overlooked. It calmed the nerves, but it also made me vulnerable to, well, death.

"Happy birthday, Rachel," he said, handing me a gift. It was nicely wrapped. I could tell he'd asked Cassie to wrap it for him.

"Thanks."

A few of my classmates showed up – even Melissa, who used to be my best friend before we'd grown apart, partially because her father was a controller. The other part was due to the fact that, well, she'd morphed as well. Into a form uncannily similar to that of a coldhearted bitch. But we were in Like-It-Never-Happened universe, so that all changed. At least, as far as I could tell.

Bert put on my favorite CD, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my mom had taken it from my room. But as I stood there, watching the people mingling over the food and having a good time – even Marco had started chatting up a group of girls from my calculus class – I realized how different everything had been. Friend-wise and people-wise, at least. As the Yeerks had slimed their way into more and more people's ears, our social status had started on a downward slope. And it wasn't long, of course, until we were too suspicious and engrossed in the whole morph business that our group of "friends" had shrunk down to the six of us: Cassie, Jake, Tobias, Ax, Marco and I. I'd forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by people and trust them – at least, in a basic sense. In that whole innocent-until-proven-guilty sense. It made me feel all. . . warm and fuzzy inside. A little happy.

"Rachel?"

It was Elliot, clutching a little gift in his arm.

"Hey," I greeted. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Right. Because I had dozens of parties that I was invited to, uncannily scheduled on the same Saturday as your birthday, plus my uncle from the Alps came down for a very momentous occasion to shave his beard – I spent the entire week trying to decide which function to attend," he said dryly, before ruffling his hair and laughing. "Happy birthday. I was honored to be invited. Here." He handed me the gift. "I'll give you a clue: it's _not_ a really lame sweater my mom helped me pick out."

I shrugged. "Sometimes moms have good taste."

"Looks like it," he said, looking around. "I heard your mom planned this whole thing. Pretty impressive. My mom still thinks I should have my birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese."

"It isn't so bad once you get used to the play-place smelling like vomit."

He nodded. "I barely even notice it after the first hour. And the sticky questionable substances on the slides just make the ride even more enjoyable. It's an adventure for all five senses."

At the party, everybody seemed to be having a good time. I'd made the rounds like my mom asked and even made some small talk with her coworkers (a few of which had daughters that were giving Marco googly eyes when he performed stand-up for five minutes before I kicked him off). Those second cousins I talked about? They were from some place in Alabama and looked like they had just stepped into a foreign, alien land. And – they had never had a cappuccino.

My dad showed up – a little late, but showed up nonetheless. Apparently his flight had gotten delayed due to some last-minute engine inspection.

"I'm sorry I'm late, honey," he said, as he crushed me into a big, familiar bear hug. This time it was a long, sentimental and heartfelt hug. I usually wasn't one for those, but I could forgive it this time around, considering the circumstances. "Happy birthday."

"I can forgive you smelling like airplane," I said, getting a little choked up. I'd forgotten how much I missed my dad. If I'd taken after anyone, I'd taken after him, minus the long blond hair. "I'm just glad you're here."

For the cutting of the cake, the elephant-sized cake was revealed – and from my favorite bakery, no less. A few of the boys I'd invited – Bert's nephews that often played at the café as a band every Friday night – got up onstage and began to play the birthday song while everybody sung along. A little embarrassing, but it was. . . it felt normal. For the first time, I knew how _normal_ felt. I felt all warm inside, and as I looked at Cassie, Jake, and Marco. . . I could tell they felt the same way. Just with how their eyes were shining and their faces were glowing. They were just about as happy as I was.

It felt good.

Marco had to leave early (he took a good helping of the cake home "for his dad"), but Cassie, Jake and Elliot stayed back to help clean up. While Cassie and Jake took down the banner, Elliot and I took care of the trash, dumping plates and tossing the pile of torn gift-wrapping.

"I have to admit," he said as we cleared the confetti off the tables, "that was the best birthday party I've been to in a while. Since Larry Appleton's birthday party in the sixth grade, in fact. It was fun. We played Dungeons and Dragons the whole night until our moms came to pick us up."

I laughed. "And what? The parties after that were considerably less captivating because it was seriously lacking in the Dungeons and Dragons department?"

"No," he admitted. "I just. . . haven't gotten invited to any birthday parties since then."

I looked up at him. "Well, just call me your salvation," I said, faux-haughtily.

"The credit is duly noted, believe me," he said. He looked up at the clock, before setting down the trash bag. "It's ten. I've gotta go. My brother's picking me up, and he's very concise about the time." He sighed, smiling. I tried to ignore the feeling that – maybe, just maybe, I was warming up to this guy. "I had a great time, Rachel. Thanks for inviting me, and – I made sure to put the gift receipt in the box so you can exchange it and buy yourself something pretty."

"I'm sure whatever your mom picked is fine," I assured him. His birthday party story was a little heartbreaking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Obviously you've never met my mom." He turned to go, before he hesitated, turning back around again. "Happy birthday, Rachel."

After he headed out the door, Cassie joined me, the banner all neatly folded up. She set it on the table with the rest of the stuff. She had a look on her face, a very un-Cassie look, but I knew the Cassie part of her was holding back what she wanted to say.

"Go ahead," I said dryly. "Say it."

"He's a good guy," she said, settling for the meek version instead. "He makes you laugh."

"Oh yeah. He's chock full of the funny."

Cassie pursed her lips, giving me a weak smile. "You looked happy today, Rachel."

"I felt happy," I said, a little apprehensive about using the word. "I mean, as happy as I could be – given the circumstance." I didn't have to tell her exactly what that circumstance was. The truth was, I felt a little guilty. I felt so close to being happy, and Tobias wasn't here. It felt uncomfortable, and even a little wrong.

"Good," said Cassie. "It's your birthday. You deserve to be happy."

After we dropped my dad off at his hotel, we headed on home. With one last hug and birthday wish, I lugged up the gift bags and boxes to my room, shoving the door open with my shoulder.

The first thing I should have noticed was that the light was on – which I rarely ever forgot to turn off. (I was a stickler for wasted electricity.) Another thing was that my things were scattered everywhere: my sheets had been pulled off, and my bookshelf had obviously been messed with. But no, what I was instead immediately focused on was the figure in my room – a very shocking, though familiar, figure. One that sent my once dormant, sick heart ricocheting off every possible rib and inner lining.

The boxes and bags tumbled out of my hands, dropping all over the floor.

The figure looked up, alarmed.

That was when I saw it. The face. The face that I'd been dreaming about, the face that sent me into feverish, sweaty fits when I thought about never seeing it again. The last face I ever saw before I died – and I had never wanted it any other way.

The tension and shock was palpable; you could cut the air with a butter knife. He stood there, frozen and still, while I felt as if my entire motor coordination had left me, dashing for the window and jumping out into the night. Parts me had gone rigid from surprise and other parts had gone into a fit, a dance, a frenzy. The thoughts that clogged into my brain, like people cramming into an already cramped subway – didn't make sense. I felt feverish. So very feverish. And I even started to get a little choked up – which wasn't normal, but fine. Considering the circumstance.

I swallowed hard, almost forgetting how to get my mouth to form words.

"Tobias?"

* * *

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	5. Happy Birthday, Rachel

**Chapter 4 – Happy Birthday, Rachel**

He stared at me, his eyes and mouth wide with shock. "_Rachel_?" Then he stepped back, shaking his head. "No," he said, his voice low. "You're dead. I saw you. You – you were. . ." His eyes stayed glued to my face, taking me in. "You can't be."

"Well then, just call me miracle girl," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "Because I'm alive."

I took a step towards him. He stood stick straight, looking at me with dreamy yet wary eyes, but didn't move away. I took that as a hint that it was okay for me to get a little closer.

I could tell he was a little captivated. He didn't blink once. Up close, I could smell him – he smelled like pine and the woods and nature. He smelled like the wild. Like the wind, and rain, and sun, and soil. My hands itched to reach out to him, but I could imagine the shock factor of the situation, so I held back as best I could until I got the okay for physical contact. But as I got closer, it was painful not to close what little distance between us we had left. After so much distance between us for the past few months, what with me being dead and him diving into the loner hawk routine and all, it was hard not to just throw my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I could.

"This is – this is impossible," he whispered, in awe. He looked straight into my eyes, a slight pained look on his face. God, I can't tell you how much that look always did me in. My heart lurched. "You're here. You're alive."

"Pretty much," I said. "How I got here is a little fuzzy, but here I am. Soul and guts and body and all."

He raised his hand slowly, hesitant, about to touch my cheek. Then he stopped, abruptly snatching it back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. I'm dreaming. I have to be. Lately, I've been having these dreams. . . this is one of them. I'm sure of it. This is too weird. Everything's weird. Everything's turned—"

"Tobias," I said, grabbing his hand, lowering it from his face. He seemed shocked at the contact, at the warmth clashing from both of our hands. "_Tobias_. This is me. Rachel. And I'm alive. I can give you a few minutes to let that all soak in, but I can tell you the whole denying-I-exist thing while I'm right here in front of you is going to get old. Fast."

"But how?" he said, his face scrunching up in confusion. "It isn't possible."

"Look around, Tobias. The entire place is back to before those slimy slugs ever landed on earth. Two weeks ago, you woke up—"

"And I was human," he finished, still conflicted. "I couldn't morph. It's like I just. . . lost it."

"Not just you. Everybody. And Ax? Yeah, remember him? Blue fuzzy horse-alien-guy with a penchant for junk food? Nobody did either. He's not here. Gone." I paused for him to catch up. "Everything's gone back to the way things used to be, Tobias. And we don't know how, or why, but. . . everything seems pretty solid."

He took a moment to digest this, intensely looking at me. I could feel my breaths stopping too short of my lungs, and my head was dizzy being this near him again. It was surreal seeing him again, here. Like my wildest dream come true – literally. So I could only imagine what was happening inside his mind with me here. As tough as it is dying, I could see how tough it could also be watching someone you loved die. From his eyes, I could tell he was reliving it, and that he'd been reliving it every night. Just like me. They had that heaviness in them, that guilt and grief and loss. . . now everything that had been instilled inside him over the past few months was getting undone within a quick minute.

I wanted to touch him. _Needed_ to. To prove that he was really here. I was burning up all over again, and my hands had clenched into fists so tightly at my sides that I could feel my nails digging into my palms.

"I know this is weird," I said, slowly. "But do you think maybe we could maybe skip this part and come back to it later, because I really want to—"

_Kiss you_. He didn't let me finish my sentence, because apparently he had been thinking the same exact thing. He had quickly stepped forward, his hands darting out with one snaking around my waist and another fisting into my hair, kissing me. To be fair, our kisses had always been intense (the whole danger and desperation of being in a war tended to be the cause of that), and had been on the cusp of strangely aggressive as the war had gone on – but this, _this_, was on a completely different level altogether. When I tell you he kissed me like I'd just died and come back to life again, I doubt you'd be able to fully comprehend just how much _intensity_ is in a kiss like that. I'll tell you: truckloads and truckloads of it wouldn't even be able to cover half of it.

It felt good. More than good – a million better adjectives than good. My knees felt weak and I felt this invisible fire everywhere, burning us both, and my lungs had shrunk due to lack of oxygen. It was a desperate kind of kiss, a Before-I-Head-off-toWar kind of kiss, full of unnamed passion.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. But oxygen had never seemed so unimportant. He held my face, his hands rough and large, his expression flushed and dazed.

"Wow," I breathed. "So that's passion, huh?"

He silently struggled for words. "I. . . Rachel. . . You don't know how much. . ." He dug his face into the crook of my neck, his words muffled but hot and moist against my skin. "God, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Cowboy."

Boy, if there was ever a time to get all sappy, this was it. I was almost trembling with it.

We were just pulling away, however, when we heard a knock on my door. I turned around, startled.

It was my mom, peeking her head inside. She looked surprised, noticing Tobias. "Rachel?"

"Mom!" I said, a little too loudly. I cleared my throat, willing the flush on my face to disappear – fast. "This is Tobias," I said, motioning to him standing beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets. "He's a friend. He wasn't able to make it to the party, so he came by to wish me a happy birthday."

"Hi Ms. Berenson," he said, a little shyly.

"Hi there." She turned to me. "Funny, I was in the kitchen, and I didn't hear the doorbell ring."

"He didn't use the doorbell," I said, as she gave me the quizzical brow. "He didn't use the door. Doesn't like to. He had a very bad experience with one as a child, and now he can't stand them."

I could see Tobias raise his eyebrows from the corner of my eye. I elbowed him in the rib, and he slightly flinched, before getting the hint: he forced a smile, nodding his head. "When I was six. I ran into one. Almost got a nasty concussion, too."

She turned to me, her eyes glinting with faint suspicion. "Seems like _none_ of your friends are too keen on using the front door."

"You know teenagers, Mom. Rebellious little scoundrels. The norms of society just aren't good enough for them. Like doors."

She sighed, relaxing her eyebrow. "Okay then. Don't be up too late." After sending me one last look sending this exact message – _Behave, Missy_ – she left, leaving the door slightly ajar. I listened for her footsteps and the click of her door before I went back and closed my own.

"It's your birthday," said Tobias, ashamed. He was looking at the boxes and bags I'd left cluttered on the floor. "I. . . I forgot."

"It's okay. You didn't know I was alive, so how could you? I'm just glad you're here." The look that flashed over his face, however, told me that I would need to cool off on the Dead Rachel jokes for a little while. "Sorry. It's not normal for me to be so desensitized to my own death, is it? I'll stop."

He looked around. "I'm sorry about your room, too. I was just. . . I kept having these dreams, and I needed to know."

"What were you looking for?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "That's just it. I don't know."

"Because if you were looking for my diary," I said, sitting down at the edge of my bed, "it's under the mattress. Not that it'd be of any use to you. I stopped writing in it years ago. I believe the words I left off at were, 'School sucks. Alex McDougall is so dreamy.'"

For the first time in a very long time, I saw his solemn mouth quirk upwards into a slight smile. "Dreamy?"

"You catch my drift." He sat down next to me. "So I imagine the whole hawk jig is out of the question. And I imagine you're pretty bummed, minus the pretty."

His face was still in thought. Then he shrugged, fiddling with his hands. "From what you've told me – if you're right, that the Yeerks really are gone – then I imagine we would have no reason to keep them. Our morphs, I mean." But from the tone of his voice and the cliff-like ending of his sentence, I knew he wasn't telling all. Tobias had always been pretty hooked into the solitude of being able to turn into an animal – so much so, in fact, that once upon a time he'd allowed himself to get trapped in the body of a hawk.

I couldn't blame him. From what I'd heard and seen, his life had been pretty lousy. At the same time, though, I remember how I'd felt when I'd found out: pretty damn gypped. A girl in love with a hawk? Now that's one thing literature hasn't even heard of. I wasn't sure if it was even legal.

"I know you're going to miss it," I said. "But this is nice. You'll see. The whole innocence of it. . . the innocence that we lost, that we no longer believed in. It's nice walking out into the street or in the middle of a mall and not worry about whether somebody's going to stick a slug in your ear. It's nice going to sleep at night and for once, _really_ sleeping." I sighed. "It's nice being able to live like this again. You know, maybe we'll even get to go to college. Get married. Have kids. We never had that option before, to look into the future and solely focus on ourselves. We were always too busy looking out for the world."

He was silent, just looking at me. "You've got a point."

"So I figure, maybe it doesn't matter why we're back here. The Valiant Twosome – Cassie and Jake – are hellbent on getting some answers, and I don't necessarily see it the same way they do. They just see it as another problem to fix – I, on the other hand, see it as the solution."

"But Rachel, how did you. . .? I mean, how did you find out that you were—"

"Alive?" I finished off for him. "Let's see, about a month and a half ago I woke up in the middle of woods, not a stitch of clothing on me. I didn't remember anything. I didn't even remember my name. Or even where the nearest Nordstrom was. But a friendly little Park Ranger found me, and afterwards. . . . Eventually, I got my memory back. Everybody had just thought I'd gone missing."

"Missing?"

"It's better than dead, that's for sure. It's already hard explaining what happened during the time I was missing, imagine what it'd be like to explain coming back from the dead." I paused, waiting for him to mention Jake, Cassie and Marco, but he just sat there, thinking. "The others are fine too. A little weirded out, but they're all fine. Marco's still a Jim Carey wannabe, Cassie's still infatuated with wounded animals, and Jake is still our tormented leader." I hesitated, trying to read his face. "We were all worried about you, you know."

I could tell I'd come across a touchy subject. He got up, running a hand through his dark hair. "Well, you shouldn't have. I was fine."

"Tobias, do you even have anyplace to stay?"

"My aunt and uncle," he said without emotion. "With any luck, they probably haven't even noticed I was gone yet."

I blinked, looking at him. He'd suddenly gone all cold on me. "Where did you go?"

"Somewhere. Everywhere," he said. "I went west for a while. Then north. Then I lost track. Then, one day, I woke up and I was human. I hitch hiked back here to see what was going on. That took me awhile, but it got me here." He looked at me, his eyes dark. "I came back a few hours ago. This was the first place I stopped by. I don't know why, but I just had this strange feeling. . ." He shook it off, instead moving onto a more pressing question: "Why was your window open?"

I smiled, shrugging. "Old habit, I guess. Got used to seeing if a little hawk would fly by my house and say Hi. And what do you know," I said. "Must've been my lucky day."

He smiled. I knew it'd always meant a lot to him, the fact that I was crazy enough to let him fly into my room and stay there, sometimes for hours, while I thwarted off sleep to keep him company.

"It was easier with wings. I had to climb that tree this time around. It doesn't look tough, but it knows how to fight back."

"Only to trespassing intruders. And the Prince isn't supposed to have it all that easy, you know. I don't know if you read the handbook, but usually there's a dragon to slay or a tower to climb. Lucky for you, no dragon, and I just got a trim a few weeks ago. All you had to do was climb an old tree." I smirked at him. "Hardly something worthy of any merit."

This was exhilarating. There was electricity – something that I hadn't felt in a very long time. But I did notice his avoidance of the subject matter of the others, or namely: Jake. This was going to be a tough one. Sure, the world was normal again and I had been resurrected from the dead, but that didn't solve all the problems, particularly with male egos. I could see how Tobias's body went stiff at the mention of him and the dimness in his eyes, signaling anger and resentment. And I wasn't exactly the best candidate to give the Love Thy Neighbor talk; after all, if Jake had sent in Tobias to be killed, I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to stand one look at him without going off like a cranky grizzly.

But I tried anyway.

"You should talk to Jake," I said. "And the others. I bet you my Macy's giftcard they'd be glad to see you."

He was standing again, heading towards the window. "Sure," he said apathetically.

"Tomorrow, at Cassie's barn," I said, fishing for a reaction. "Around noon."

He only nodded, and I got up, heading towards where he was. He lifted one leg over, climbing out of my window. As I watched him, wanting to say something – anything – to convince him to stay, I felt like there were strings on my heart, and that somebody was pulling them. He'd just come back. Why was he already leaving?

I didn't think twice. I grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Tobias, are you sure you have to go? You could stay a little while longer." I bit my lip. "Or over – you could stay over. I have a sleeping bag right in my closet – it hasn't been used since the sixth grade, but I'm sure the dust won't kill you. Just checking: you aren't asthmatic, are you?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Rachel, you'd be grounded for the rest of your life. And that's _after_ your mom kills you."

He leaned forward, kissing me, before giving my hand one last squeeze and continued to climb out of my window. He rested one foot on the nearest branch, using his right arm to get a grip on a higher branch.

"I'll see you tomorrow. And Tobias?" I whispered after him. "Don't disappear."

"I could say the same for you," he said back. Then he stopped, just as he was about to head down. He raised his head, looking up at me. The moon was out, a great and beautiful full moon, and it made him look ghostly, almost glowing. "Rachel?"

I stuck my head partially out of the window, worried that my mom would come in and check on me. "Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

I smiled. "I love you too, Tobias."

- - - - -

Marco was drumming on bales of hay with a pair of sticks while Cassie re-bandaged a robin's injured wing. Jake was sitting down, intensely staring out into space, and I was pacing. I paced back and forth, glancing out at the door, before sitting back down – only to get up again, to pace some more.

"Are you sure it was really him?" asked Marco, reaching the end of his dramatic drum solo. He spun the sticks into the air, holding his hands out to catch them, before they clattered to the floor. "Maybe it was just a dream. You ate the cake, didn't you, Rach? How much of it? Because I gotta tell you, I had some great dreams last night, too."

"It wasn't a dream," I snapped. "He was there, okay? He was in my room. Tobias. _Human_ Tobias. He said that he'd lost his morph, just like the rest of us."

"Are you sure you told him—"

I sent Cassie a look. She shrugged and went back to aiding the hurt bird. Marco whistled, bending down to look for his missing sticks.

"And I used to think _I_ made you grouchy. Tobias is really vying for my spot, isn't he?"

"He's going to be here. I know it. He wouldn't – he wouldn't just _not_ come," I defended.

"Because that would be so unlike him," said Jake. "To disappear on us like that."

However, just as I sent Jake a withering glare, the barn door opened. Tobias stepped in.

"Tobias! I knew you would come!" I quickly stepped forward, giving him a tight hug. I could feel that he was tense – his body was rigid, uncomfortable. His eyes softened when he saw me but they hardened right back up, dark and unreadable, once he saw the others.

"Hey! Birdbrain!" grinned Marco, tossing the sticks behind him. Cassie looked up, putting the robin back in its cage. Jake just looked on from where he sat, guilt flashing across his face for an indecipherable second.

Tobias shook hands with Marco and waved at Cassie, but only met Jake's eyes with a hard stare. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he looked away, running a hand through his hair.

Cassie, Marco and I exchanged glances, feeling the obvious tension between the two. It had practically swarmed the barn once they got a good look at each other.

"Here's a wacky idea," said Marco, testing the waters, "how about you two boys just hug it out?"

They ignored him.

"All right, all right," he muttered, waving his hands. "Not a big fan of the hugs. I got it."

Tobias went to go sit down on a bale of hay, while I settled down next to him. He spoke up first. "Let's talk about Ax."

"Now Ax," said Marco. "_He_ liked hugs."

"So he's nowhere to be found. Where could he possibly be?"

"We don't know," said Jake. "We have no way of knowing, either. It's a dead end. Anything we try to question about this reality, it's a dead end. This is solid, what we're living in now. Nobody remembers anything – at least, that's the impression I've gotten."

"I know!" exclaimed Marco. "Have you tried asking Tom if he remembers being a homicidal jerk lately?"

He sent Marco a glare. "I tried to avoid asking any obvious questions."

"Have you looked in his ear? Does he hear as well as before? Maybe he's got some slug residue gunk still left in his ear."

"So we can't really know for sure," I clarified, "whether or not everybody remembers."

"But think about it," said Cassie. "Don't you think somebody would crack? That it'd end up on the news somewhere? It's too big to just keep in."

"The _news_?" snorted Marco. "More like on a filthy street corner with a cardboard sign yelling out the words, 'The end of the world is here!' and asking for spare change."

"And if everybody did know," Jake said, in serious thought mode, "maybe the reason they aren't saying a word, that they're using this whole grand scheme of lies and ignorance. . . is because they're scared."

I looked at him. "Scared of what, exactly?"

Marco perked up. "I thought we'd already gotten rid of Papa Yeerk and the rest of his Yeerklings."

"Not the Yeerks," said Tobias, shaking his head. "It might be something else."

"Something _else_?" Marco whined. "You'd better be talking about something cuddly and cute and not in any way bent on wiping out the human race. Maybe raising herds of ice cream trucks in a remote, peaceful part of town for everybody to enjoy?"

"The government could be behind this," Cassie pitched. "I overheard my parents talking about the things the government has been rumored to be behind in the past – like Roswell."

"But how?" I asked. "And if they forced everybody to shut up, or erased their memories – how would they be able to raise people from the dead?"

"More importantly," said Tobias, "what they're going to do to the people who still remember and haven't gotten the memo."

The five of us looked at each other. "Us."

Marco stood up, throwing his stick. It clattered against the barn wall, disrupting a few birds. Cassie flinched. "Look, guys. I think we're getting a little too carried away with this. I mean – involving the government? Don't you think they'd have better things to do, like pass laws and impeach sleazy presidents and buy new spiffy suits? Besides, we don't have any proof, nor have we seen anything to make us even remotely suspicious."

Jake sighed. "Marco's right. It's too early for us to start jumping to conclusions."

"But we shouldn't let our guard down," added Tobias.

"Right," said Jake, giving him a brief side-glance. "We shouldn't let our guard down."

After the meeting, Jake took off, claiming to have some family gathering. Marco stuck around for a while, talking to Cassie, retooling with new jokes, before he waved goodbye and headed back home to spend some time with his mom. Cassie retreated back to her animals, concentrated on forgetting Jake's seemingly irreversible attitude change (it wasn't that hard to figure this one out; I knew Cassie too well to know that it bugged her – plus, her face was transparent). And I headed out with Tobias.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I said, as we walked across the grass. "I mean, sure, there was palpable tension. But it wasn't like you two brought out the brass knuckles and started talking about each other's mothers."

The sun was eclipsed by a few clouds, but the skies were blue and clear. Perfect weather.

"I don't think I can forgive him, Rachel."

"For what? Trying to save the world?" I said. His expression hardened, and I knew my words had hit a sore nerve. "Think about it, Tobias. I know you know why he sent _me_, not Cassie, not you, not Marco – not even himself. Jake doesn't just _do_ things on a whim – he's purely logical, purely methodical. Don't you think I felt pretty gypped, having to die?" I paused, watching his face. "Although it was kind of a rush. Dying, I mean."

"Don't say that," he snapped. He tried to compose himself then. "Don't talk like that."

"Look, all I'm saying is," I said, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn around to look at me, "that I'm alive now. God knows why, or how, but I'm here, as alive as you are, and every single stupid living thing on this planet. You're angry because he sent me to die – well, I'm alive now."

He looked at me, his eyes hard like stones. I could faintly see the underlying pain and turmoil. "You don't get it. You didn't watch. You didn't _see_ it."

"No, but I _felt_ it." I lowered my hand from his arm. "I get the whole angst routine, okay? I get it. So does Cassie. And Jake. And even Marco. And we'll take it – for a while. But whether there really is something bad going on behind the scenes, or whether things are just back to being strangely normal. . ." I hesitated. "We can't afford to be divided."

"Who said we were divided?" he said.

"Nobody. But I think you know. . . I mean, you should. . . that if ever. . ." I sighed, turning around for a second, trying to find the words. I heard the distant roar of a truck pull up. Cassie's parents were home. "I would be with you," I said firmly, turning back to him. "_You_, Tobias."

The harsh lines on his face smoothed out, just a little. He sighed, and then he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. It was a moment, one of those moments, and while I usually felt uncomfortable during _moments like those_, I just let it sink in. It was easy. It was easy because it felt right to be here, with him, like this.

"I have an idea," I said, when we pulled apart. We continued walking out, towards the street. "Let's go out. On a date."

His brow furrowed. "A date?"

"Yeah. You know. A dinner, a movie, possibly some shameless flirting and some discreet and awkward handholding. What normal teenagers do these days, when they're not up to their shenanigans. This is all supposed to be pre-steady dating status, but we had to skip it due to the pending apocalypse and your not-so-brief stint as Feathers."

He nodded his head, before looking down. I noted that his face looked ridiculously serious for the mention of a casual date. "Sounds good, but I. . . uh. . . I don't have any money."

Then I realized that the look on his face wasn't ridiculous seriousness after all. It was embarrassment.

"Is that what's gotten you all sullen? Low funds? I don't wanna brag, but I've got it covered. Mass birthday party? Birthday girl? Ring any bells?"

He frowned. I knew how big Tobias's pride was, and how much he hated it when I babied him. It had often been one of my adversaries. You'd think, a guy's girlfriend brings him some food so that he won't starve, and he should be over the moon, right? Boasting to his other friends about how great she is and how much she cares? Tobias wasn't like that. He held his ability to take care of himself by himself to an insanely high regard, and even I couldn't step over it without him getting his feathers all ruffled.

But on some level, I understood. For most of his life, the only person who'd ever really cared enough to make sure he was fed and was clothed was. . . well, himself.

"Or we could just have a picnic in the woods," I suggested instead. "Lay out a blanket, be one with nature while eating leftover chicken and cake from my party. That way, your ego would suffer little damage and we can both enjoy the evening, just the two of us."

I tried an enticing smile, my breathtaking Rachel smile – rumored to break dozens of boys' hearts in our measly little high school's halls. At least, according to Marco.

He looked at me, laughing. "Sounds good."

"Good. I'm going to go home and get ready." I turned around to walk in another direction, before whirling around. "You can pick me up at six."

* * *

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